I Left the Prestige Trap

I spent years collecting prestigious achievements to prove myself, but none of them taught me to trust myself.

Last month, I walked away from what many people would call a dream job: serving as a career diplomat. It was the right decision for me, but that doesn't mean it wasn't one of the hardest things I've done.

I enjoyed diplomacy for many reasons: the high-impact moments where you're part of history, the professional opportunities, and the community. But the prestige and mystique around it became its own version of golden handcuffs.

My main reasons to walk away: I don’t want to live abroad most of my life, switching countries every three years. Developing a new social group every couple of years is taxing. Also, institutional constraints make it harder to work on the issues I cared most about, particularly on emerging technologies.

I asked other diplomats why they stayed. Some didn't think they could transition to other sectors. Some hadn't really considered leaving but also hadn't intentionally stayed so long. A few said this was their dream job—something they'd do even if they had a million dollars. Some decided one assignment at a time.

I was in that last group, but I wasn't fulfilled. For years, I'd built a parallel path: writing on the side, helping scale impactful organizations, even writing a book. But none of these seemed exactly like the right next step. I couldn’t figure out what was blocking me.

I needed time to think, to read books on the knowledge gaps I think are important (like innovation). But I was caught in a catch-22: I couldn't figure out my next step without first developing my own framework on which of society’s tech challenges matter most. Yet I couldn't develop that framework without stepping away to actually read and think.

For months, I felt stuck. The only way forward was to make the unconventional choice to leap away from institutions and give myself time to explore.

What finally gave me courage to walk away into this personal experiment wasn't one big moment. It was a collection of small ones that added up, mostly conversations.

• A friend sent me an article about high-agency people because she said I was the person she'd call if stuck in a third-world jail. (I once did extract her from a Puerto Rico forest by finding an adventurous tow truck driver in under two hours) The article resonated completely, except for one line I couldn't face: "being willing to leave something prestigious." I'd turned prestige into a virtue, collecting "signaling points" for later impact. But prestige is like the ring in Lord of the Rings—the desire never stops, even when you pile more on.

• My brother, who went from being a ten-year-old kid bagging groceries in Mexico to becoming a decorated U.S. Marine captain, kept asking, "Did you leave yet?" One of the most pragmatic people I know was encouraging me to do the crazy thing that didn't make sense on paper.

• My mentors, bosses, and friends in diplomacy who showed nothing but full belief that I can do anything I set my mind to, in or outside of diplomacy.

• Someone at a conference set up a one-on-one with me just to tell me I should write. They'd heard my takes on how policy and tech people misunderstand each other. I needed to share my perspectives online, not just in conversations.

• At a meditation/goal-setting retreat, I spent days dissecting my fear of leaving, talking with others about it. I realized that's all it was—fear. Fear of losing community, identity, prestige. All things I could build again. Breaking it down this way made it actionable instead of overwhelming.

All these conversations had been circling the same truth: I was ready, even if I didn't feel ready.

The gap between knowing I should leave and actually leaving wasn't about gathering more security—it was about accepting that fear and trust in myself were the issues.

The downsides of leaving were clear, but the upsides weren't here yet. They were inside me, waiting to be created. I’d be a different person, like I always am whenever I read 10 books on a subject. I needed to do that transformation again, and trust that new version of myself would know what to do. I needed to believe my own track record - and that I was more powerful than chasing prestige.

For years, I collected prestige signals for their own sake and versatility. But didn’t resolve my inner critic: when I first got into Yale, I felt like maybe I tricked the admissions team. That feeling of being a fluke never went away, so I kept chasing the next signal.

What actually built my confidence were the relationships that came from real work, both in and outside of paid work. Those conversations that finally empowered me to walk away: they happened because of the relationships I'd built, the trust I'd earned, the track record.

And all those side projects I'd been doing proved to myself that I could also create opportunities from scratch. I didn't need an institution for validation.

These bets are easier with encouragement from people who believe in you. Or when you become that person for yourself.

What you say and do for each other really matters. I don’t think I can properly thank each of these people for their small interactions with me that helped me finally make this leap.

Before I submitted my resignation, I worried about giving up a dream job. But sitting alone after my last day, I knew the right answer was to find and create my dream job.

I trust in myself that I’ll figure it out.

For now, I'm doing exactly what I'd hoped for: reading statistics, innovation, AI, and biology books. I'm writing publicly as I figure out the most important thing I should work on. Maybe it'll help others find their most impactful careers. Maybe writing is that career for me. Only one way to find out!